


Nursing Wounds, Nursing Wombs

by Im_writing_out_of_time



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, George Washington low key victim blames at first, Pregnancy, but low key, he falls in love with her, look at the relationship tag, pregnancy as a result of rape, rape mention, vague rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 18:31:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_writing_out_of_time/pseuds/Im_writing_out_of_time
Summary: Angst. Just all the angst.Washington meets you when he looks for his aide de camp (can't Alexander ever do what he's told???) at the surgeon's tent. You are a field nurse, heavily pregnant and doing a good job at hiding it until the ever knowing Washington notices.





	Nursing Wounds, Nursing Wombs

Life as a field nurse was tough. 

Life as a field nurse who was unwed and pregnant was tougher. 

You walked through the tent of the wounded. There wasn't much anyone could do for half of these men, but it was your job to make them comfortable as the life slowly slid from their eyes. Bright crimsons splashed across browns and blues that had become the colors you saw on a daily basis. The white of underclothes no longer white, tans and browns after being worn for months. Body parts had turned black on these men- improper dressing during the coldest winters many of them had ever lived. These men didn't have much covering their feet as far as shoes, and some were lucky to even have a pair of socks. 

Horse feet thundered outside, beating like the sound of the army drummers. They thrummed against the solid ground, the August weather had dried out the soil, the lack of rain cracked the hard ground. The only wind was warm as it weaved through the tent flaps, accompanied by a tall man, his eyes hard as stone, searching through the men. 

"Has Alexander Hamilton shown up in your tent today?" 

"No, sir," you replied, wiping your hands on your apron. "We have not taken in any more men today. These men have all been here for three days minimum." Your hands moved in front of your stomach. Your clothes were baggy, but you did not want to take chances that someone find out about your... predicament. "I have not seen Mister Hamilton as of recent sir." 

General George Washington stood in front of you, his eyes slowly softening as they looked at you. "Thank you, Miss-?"

"(Y/N)," you replied, holding out your hand for him to shake. "(Y/N)(L/N), sir." 

His hand encased yours easily. Everything about this man dwarfed you. "Nice to meet you, Miss (L/N). Please keep an eye out for my camp aid." 

"Of course, General," you promised as he began to take his leave. 

He stopped just short of the tent door. "Who knows of your predicament, Miss (L/N)?" 

Your heart shot to your throat. "I do not know what you mean, General Washington." Your voice was shaking and you could feel your heart pounding all the way from your stomach to your ears. 

"Miss (L/N), I feel as though this conversation would be much easier if we are truthful with each other. Does your husband know of your predicament?" 

Your eyes cast down to the solid ground beneath your feet. "No husband," you whispered, ashamed. "I have never married." 

"Fine," he stated, eyes hardened. "Your courter." 

"No courter." The tears were beginning to prick behind your eyes. 

"Do you claim to have a child of divine reasons?" His voice was as hard as his eyes were. He had slipped into his commanding voice. 

"No, sir. I do not. I-" 

"Are you nothing more than a common whore?" he pressed. 

Your face shot up, anger burning in your eyes. "No, absolutely not! I have never willingly slept with any man, and I definitely would not sleep with men without love, without marriage. You need not worry about the condition of the nurses keeping your men resting, other than how they handle their job. I handle my job perfectly fine as I am, sir, despite my predicament." One of the men began to moan in pain and your head jerked from its heated gaze on the general to search for the injured man. The palms of your hands swiped at the tears sparkling down your cheek in the soft light of the afternoon that shone through the tent. "Now, I have a job to do if you would see yourself out." 

You moved to the man, water bowl and ladle in hand. You were tender as you worked, George noticed as he watched from his position. You brushed the young man's hair back from his eyes as he fell back- was he asleep? Had he expired right there before you? 

George got his answer when you used your fingers to gently ease the boy's eyes closed. You pressed a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead, and pulled his coat over his face, shrouding him with the few materials you had. A sad smile adorned your face as you moved from man to man, bending down to help them, moving easily around your round form. 

"General Washington," you stated gently. "Mister Hamilton is not here. He has not been here. Therefore, I suggest you take your leave and look elsewhere." Your voice was resigned, knowing he would not listen to you. You looked up at him from your spot kneeling on the ground. "These men are trying to recover from surgery and unless you plan to help, I have work to do." 

You had not expected him to remove his hat and set it down, shucking his coat to the small chair in the corner of the tent and rolling up his sleeves. "How can I help?" 

"Sir," you started. 

"No, Miss (L/N), you are right. You have work to do, and if I wish to continue talking to you, I should assist you in your working on the men. How may I assist you?" 

You were shocked, but took it in stride. "Go to the river and fetch some cool water," you ordered. "This man has a fever and we need to bring it down. He has been under as many blankets as we can afford to spare and it has yet to break. So take the empty bowl and fill it with the coldest water you can find." 

He did as you asked without questioning. He returned with a bowl of water, mostly clear, with small amounts of sediment mixing in. It was hard to get clean water around here. 

You ripped a small amount of fabric off your apron and dipped it in small bowl of water before placing it on the young man's forehead. "Hold this here," you stated before moving down to undress the man's torso. He had a crimson bandage dressing his wound- an angry puckered surgical scar beneath his ribs, the pale skin a bright red. 

You took the cloth from the water and rung it out, the cold water spilling over your hands. You had to keep his wounds clean, despite the lack of fresh water. No one had come to build your fire to cook supper for the men yet, and you had no supplies to do so yourself. 

The young man's body surged toward your hand as the water dripped over his stitches. He screamed out in pain and you winced. The sound never became easier to hear. You pat the stitches dry and dressed the wound once more with some less-than-clean cloth before you pulled his shirt back around him and covered him back up. 

"You can remove the cool cloth. We must not let him get too damp.” 

You bustled around, looking for something that didn't need fire to be edible. 

“What are you doing?” The general questioned incredulously.

“Looking for food that does not need cooking to be edible. We have no fire yet today,” you answered simply. 

"No- You do not know how to start a fire?" 

"Contrary to your beliefs, General," you spat. "I do know how to start a fire. However, it is a bit difficult when I have no firewood, no kindling. There is no sense in starting a fire that one cannot feed and, General Washington, I have nothing to feed it. Besides, it is nearing the end of August, and most men think we need no fire at the infirmary tent. 

He nodded his head slowly, thinking. "I must take my leave, Miss (L/N). Good day to you." 

"Good day to you as well, General. I hope you find Mister Hamilton." 

He smiled gently, fondly. "Mister Hamilton has more than likely just disappeared into town to see his beloved."

"Then why did you bother coming to the tents if you knew he would not be here?"

"Miss (L/N), surely I said 'more than likely.' I still do not know for sure that he is in town. However, I am glad I came to the tents if it meant seeing someone as beautiful as you."

You fisted your hands in your apron as you stared at the ground. "Surely you do not mean that," you said. 

His fingers found a place beneath your chin and he lifted your face to meet his. "Surely I did, Miss (L/N). You are more beautiful than you think." 

You cast your eyes away once more and pushed his hand away from you. Grabbing his coat and hat, you pushed them in his hands before distancing yourself. "I think you should leave now, General." 

His face screwed into a confused expression. "Miss-"

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, just go." 

"Yes, Miss (L/N)." He turned and headed for the tent flap. He paused and turned to look at you. "I hope to see you again." 

The horse's feet clopped away much slower than they had approached and you took a moment to breathe before returning to the men. There wasn't much you could do for any of them, but you busied yourself to keep your mind off of things. _Off of General Washington_ , your mind smirked. 

Before you knew it, night was beginning to fall. Five of your six men had expired- the only one surviving being the young boy General Washington had helped you with only hours before. You sat at his bedside- if the lumpy cot of blankets could even be called a bed- and brushed his dirty hair from his eyes. He couldn't be much older than fifteen. You had seen his blue eyes for a while before he fell asleep. He looked so much like a child- he shouldn't be anywhere near a battlefield, let alone dying on one. 

The thundering of hooves sounded outside once more- the sound pounding to a stop outside the tent. The general’s voice sounded outside the tent flap, ordering someone to start a fire. The tent flap brushed open to reveal the general in his tall, demanding glory. 

“Miss (Y/N),” he greeted. “I have brought men to start a fire for you. Are you warm enough for the time being? Here.” He shed his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. The nighttime temperatures were starting to drop with the impending storm. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes returning to the young boy whose eyes were slowly fluttering open. “Hello,” you crooned sweetly. “I was not sure if I would be able to talk you again.” Your lips pressed gently against his forehead and you pulled back smiling. “And your fever has finally broken. Do you need any water?” 

He shook his head slowly before his eyes found the general looming only feet away as he walked closer. His hand shot to his forehead in a salute, crying out in pain as he stretched the stitches in his side. “General Washington, sir,” he saluted, his voice cracking. 

“Please, son. None of that. Just worry about getting rest. You must wait until you are well once more before you worry about saluting.” The general kneeled down beside the young boy. “Thank you for your service young man. I pray you have a full recovery.” He stood back up after shaking the young boy’s hand. “Miss (L/N), may I speak to you out by the fire?” 

You looked at the boy once more. “Do you need anything?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

You couldn't help but smile softly at him. Ma'am. You weren't that much older than he was. “I will be outside with the general. Call for me if you need me.” You released his hand and reached for Washington’s outstretched grasp. He helped you up with ease, your stomach being a little difficult to move around beneath your oversized skirts. 

His large hand rested in the curve of your back beneath his jacket, the curve emphasized now that your stomach was being pulled forward. You exited the tent first, the general following immediately behind before he pulled you to the farthest end of the tent. 

“I was wondering, beautiful (Y/N), if I could share a kiss with you.” 

“What?” You questioned. 

“You have no husband, no courter, therefore no ties I should be worried about. May I kiss you?” 

His hands had grasped yours, both of your hands completely encased by his own. You were suddenly aware of the warmth of his hands against yours- it wasn't much, but it was apparent he had been near a fire of his own recently. His breath was warm against your skin and your eyes focused on his lips, slightly pursed as he breathed. 

You were vaguely aware that you were nodding, and became increasingly aware as his face moved towards your own. His lips were surprisingly soft, despite being in the dry summer air all day. His hand moved to caress the back of your head, holding you to him. His other hand remained in the dip of your spine. 

You were pulled apart abruptly by a horse’s hooves pounding against the dried earth and men’s frantic yells cutting through the air. The general pulled you behind him as a bleeding man was pulled into the surgical tent. 

“General, the surgeon is not here. He has gone to town, he- he will not be back until tomorrow.” Your mind was still swirling from what had just happened. 

“You must be able to do something, (Y/N).” 

His hand was on your back, leading you into the surgical tent where you came face to face with the bleeding man. You knew him. 

You would never forget him. 

His body curled up as he screamed out in pain, a bayonet broken in his side. As his body coiled, he looked at you and stared before a sadistic laugh bubbled from his mouth. “Sleeping with the general, huh? Does he know the sound you make when you are-” Another yell of pain, followed by another laugh. “When you are fucked like a whore?” 

You were still, physically unable to move, terrified. Your eyes were wide as you backed toward the tent flap. Your chest heaved as you took in wheezing shuddering breaths. You finally moved and stumbled as your back hit the general’s chest, his arms wrapping around you to catch you. 

You pushed the general’s arms off of you, the large jacket falling to the ground, and the man who brought _him_ in grabbed you and pulled you towards the surgeon’s table. “This is why women should not be on the battlefield. Just fix him.” 

You nodded your head, terrified of being anywhere close to him but knowing you had a job to do. You grabbed a sewing kit and a musket ball and moved to him. Your stomach brushed the tall man standing as you moved to the surgeon’s table, your skirts pushing back to show your round form. 

The sadistic smile returned. “And she is with child, too.” 

Your eyes shot to the general’s, still wide. Had he not figured out who this man was to you yet? Why was he just standing there?

You moved around the end of the table to look at the wound. There was not much you could do, but you were going to act like there was anyway. You were glad he would die. He curled up once more as you reached the very end of the table, his legs winding up. 

The pain shot through your stomach before you knew what was happening. 

You fell to the floor, the man on the table laughing as you dropped. He knew he was dying as well as you did. The general moved his body and pulled the bayonet from the soldier’s abdomen, the warm blood flowing through his fingers. 

The man on the table remained laughing while the soldier who had brought him to the tent stood in shock. His superior had just ensured the death of one of his men. 

“You will leave this tent and you will not speak a word of this to anyone, am I clear?”

The man was shaking, his eyes wide. “Yes, sir.” 

“Am. I. Clear?!” 

“Yes, sir!” He saluted before running from the tent. The man’s blood was slowly ceasing to flow to the ground as the general moved around the bed to stand at your side. The laughing had stopped and the man’s eyes were clenched shut. 

Never before had the tent been so well traveled as that day. Hooves drummed towards the tent once again and you could hear men talking outside. A man walked in, hair pulled back, satchel slung over his shoulder. 

“General Washington, I apologize for- General?” 

Your abdomen was tight as you laid on the floor. A clenching pain seared from your navel to your back before disappearing entirely. General Washington was kneeling by your side, the concern thick in his eyes. 

“General?”

“Alexander, I need your help. Help me get Miss (L/N) to a cot. Please.” 

The satchel dropped to the ground and Alexander surged forward. “Yes, sir.” 

“I am alright,” you whimpered, pain radiating from your stomach dictating your every movement. “Just help me stand.” 

“(Y/N),” he started. 

“General Washington, please. Just help me stand.” 

He grabbed your outstretched hand and pulled you up, holding you as your tried to find your bearings. 

The aching pain returned once more and you knew the baby was on its way. You had been feeling these pains for the last month and now the time was finally here. 

You were terrified. You didn't want a baby, especially not his baby. 

You managed to stand on your own and the general moved his arms away from you, taking a step back, watching not to step on the surgical supplies behind him. Your body was shaking as you moved to the surgical table. 

His eyes were clamped shut, his face, even in death, contorted into laughter. The dark red blood oozed over the table slowly, clotting on the surface warmed from the summer heat. 

The tears that danced down your cheeks were cold against your face. You couldn't help the relieved smile that graced your face. “He is finally gone,” you whispered, laughing quietly. “He died.” 

You walked outside and grabbed the small cart, dragging it into the surgical tent. You moved quickly, before the men could stop you. They watched your every movement as you pulled the cart beside the surgeon’s table and pushed his body in. 

The blood was warm on your hands as you pulled the cart outside. Your hands slid on the cart and you stumbled as you pushed it down the hill. You fell back on the ground, your feet sliding on one of the few muddy patches of ground, your head hitting the hard crumbling, rocky ground. The cart continued down the hill, disappearing into the brush. 

General Washington was by your side immediately, helping you to your feet as he watched the cart disappear into the tall grass and bushes. “(Y/N), are you-”

“I am okay. Just- just go get the cart.” Your voice was shaking, holding back tears. “Leave him there for the wolves. It is more than he deserves.” You gathered your skirts and walked back to the tent, leaving the general standing at the crest of the hill. 

The general’s camp aid- Mr Hamilton- was standing at the tent flap, holding it open. He watched your movements carefully, keeping close watch as you moved around the tent. 

You had to clean. You had to remove every part of him from the tent, from your life. Well, as much as you could. You grabbed dirty rags and began mopping up the blood on the table, throwing the red rags in a bucket near the table. 

You could feel the contracting running through your from your navel to your back, the pain radiating through your lower back. You squat down, clenching your hands on the edge of the table. A whimper escaped your lips as the pain intensified. 

“Miss-”

“I am fine, Mr Hamilton,” you whimpered. “Uhm… where is the general?” 

“Call me Alexander,” he said. “General Washington is coming up the hill now.” His body was in the tent, but his head was poking out the flap looking down the hill. 

You stood up, the contractions finally waving away, as the General walked through the tent. “I brought the cart back,” he said, moving toward you as you resumed cleaning. 

“Thank you, general.” You were scrubbing so hard your knuckles paled at the pressure. 

“George.”

Your hand stuttered, your knuckles banging into the table. “What?”

“Call me George.” His smile was soft as he looked at you, his eyes- was that affection? No it couldn't be. 

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly realizing how close he was to you. “I have to go check on the boy in the other tent.” You ducked out, running to the other tent to find the boy laying on his back, his left leg propped up. 

He looked up as you walked in- his eyes were wild. “What was happening in the surgery tent?” He whispered. “What happened?” 

You dropped to the floor beside him, your fingers finding his dirty blond hair, brushing it out once more. “Bad stuff,” you whispered, trying to fight the tears from your eyes. 

“Can you tell me about it?” 

You took a shuddering breath and smiled at him. It was a sad smile, more to build a facade that it was all okay. “Someone brought a soldier into the tent. He had a bayonet sticking out of his side. George… the general, he asked me if I could do something for him. So I went in the tent. I knew him. I knew the soldier. Well… I knew of him.” 

“Go on,” he whispered. 

“He was the man who stole my virtue. He attacked me outside the tent one night. I have not seen him since December, and I- is it wrong to be glad that he is dead?” You set your hand on your stomach, the contractions making an appearance once more. “I am with child- his child- and I want nothing to do with it. I would parent it like I would any other child, but I- I feel as though I will always detest him- the baby.”

“Are you laboring right now?” He asked warily, watching your forehead scrunch up in pain. 

You couldn't say anything, but instead nodded. This was the strongest contraction yet and, though you didn't have a stopwatch, you knew they were getting closer, and stronger. 

George appeared at your side, sitting beside you. How long had he been listening? “(Y/N), why did you not say anything earlier?” 

“I thought-” 

“You thought what?” 

Your hand grabbed the cravat tied around his neck and pulled it taut, not looking at him, but effectively getting him to stop talking. Everything in your body made you want to hold your breath but your mind forced yourself to pant through the contractions. “It is supposed to take longer,” you whimpered, the contraction never leaving. “I though it would take longer.” 

George looked at the boy. “What is your name soldier?” 

“Bradley Allison, sir.” 

“Bradley, son, can you walk?”

He nodded, terror painting his eyes. “Yes sir.” 

“Go tell Mr Hamilton to order the men away, at my word. Tell him that they are not to repeat anything they have seen or heard today and tell him I need his assistance in the tent. This baby will be coming soon and there is no way to get Miss (Y/N) into town.” 

“Yes sir.” He winced in pain as he moved his body, his steps irregular, his limping shuffle slow as he moved to the tent flap, to the fire the soldiers had made outside. Only moments later, horses were pounding away and Alexander was walking into the tent. 

“Sir you- Good god. Sir?” 

“Alexander, I need you to sit behind her and hold her.” 

“Sir, I-” 

“George,” you whimpered. You squatted in front of him and braced yourself using his shoulders. Your body forced you to push and it was the weirdest feeling you had ever felt. You were still wearing your underclothes, but now was not the time to remove them. You would once you lost the contraction. 

“(Y/N), how can I help? Let me help you.”

“I do not want Alexander here,” you whispered as your contraction weakened. “Only us. Please, George.” 

“Okay,” he whispered back against your ear. “Alexander, please leave the tent. Take care of Bradley outside please.”

Alexander looked relieved. “Yes sir. Thank you sir.” He scurried out of the tent, the tent flap quivering in the breeze. 

George moved you to the cot, setting you down gently. “When were you due to birth, (Y/N)?” 

“Before the end of the month,” you breathed, laying back. “That is how I figured it myself. No one else knows about me being with child.” 

“Okay,” he said softly. “Do you need anything?” 

“I am still wearing my underclothes. I have to remove them before I birth. Would you help me stand?”

“Lay back and allow me to adjust your skirts. I will remove your underclothes, (Y/N), so you can give birth without moving too much.” 

“George?” You were suddenly terrified at the thought that he was going to see you in such a position, that you were in such a position to be readily available for… “I can- Let me do it myself.” You attempted to wrestle past your skirts, the thick fabric bunching up in the way. 

“Miss (Y/N), I promise, my intentions are pure. I only intend to assist you in birthing your child, I swear on my honor as a general of the United States Army.” His jacket was pushed back on his shoulders and he pulled it off, laying it out on the floor beside him. 

You nodded your head fast, too ashamed to look at him as he eased your underclothes off and folded them, setting them on the jacket he had shed. He barely had time to look back at you before you were struggling to your feet to push. Squatting was the most comfortable for you, though your skirts made it difficult. 

You braced yourself once again, using George’s shoulders to hold yourself upright. Your water broke, soaking tour skirts from your waist down, and your face blanched. No man should ever see a woman in this position. It was unbecoming. 

“Alexander!” George called, and his aid peeked his head in through the tent flap tentatively. “Ride the horse to town and get new clothes for Miss (Y/N). Anything will work, even if you have to get men’s clothes.” 

“Yes sir,” he saluted, escaping the situation as soon as possible.

You were already getting tired from pushing. Squatting was easiest on your body, but your knees and ankles ached and you wanted nothing more than to sleep. “Is anything even happening?” You questioned with a sob. 

“I cannot currently see, my (Y/N), but as I removed your underclothes, I could see your child’s head crowning. I promise, o beautiful (Y/N), your work is not all for naught. Would you mind if I lift your skirts out of the way?” 

“Go ahead,” you said, bracing yourself against him to push once more. He lifted your skirts waist high on you- just enough to see what was happening. “George, what can you see?” 

“You almost have the shoulders out, (Y/N). You are almost done. One more push.”

You listened to him and pushed once more, your grip losing his shoulders as his arms lunged forward to catch your baby. You fell back on your cot as he caught her, pulling her to his chest. God, you were so tired. 

“She's not breathing, (Y/N),” he said frantically. “Alexander, I need a knife and something to tie off the navel!”

Bradley’s voice floated through the billowing tent flap. “Alexander went to town sir, but worry not. I will fetch something from the surgeon's tent.” 

His gait was odd as he shuffled into the tent, knife and surgery thread in his hands. “Here, sir,” he said, handing them over. 

George moved the small baby into his lap and cut the umbilical cord, tying it off with the thread. His finger moved inside her small mouth, pulling mucus from her airway. “Please breathe little one. Please.” 

Every part of your body felt heavy as you watched him, your eyebrows drooping closed as George held the baby. She was barely bigger than his hands. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, watching his rapid movements. How cruel could a god be to someone? Why would He force a man on an innocent woman? Allow her to get pregnant? Why could you not have met George before that fateful summer night? 

He was rubbing her back, patting her back, anything to try to get her to breathe, to start her heart. “Come on!” He cried, tears streaming down his face. 

Bradley stood behind him. “Is she-?” 

“No! She can't be. I- There must be something I can- I have to save her.” He pressed his lips to the baby, pushing air in her lungs. _Anything_ to try and save her. “I have to save her.” 

Bradley took a blanket from the ground beside you, the blankets you had placed on him for days. He draped it over you as your eyes drooped closed once more, covering you from anyone else’s gaze who might enter the tent, before grabbing another and gently easing the baby from the general’s hands. 

“She was born like this, General Washington. Maybe it is divine reason that the child be born dead. The nurse, she… she wished the baby away, sir. It was god’s will. You should not fret about things that you could never control.” 

He wrapped your baby in the blanket as though she had lived, swaddling her so only her face was showing- damp curls pasted against the crown of her head. George moved the afterbirth from the ground and placed it in one of the bowls you had laying around before adjusting your legs to what he thought would be a more comfortable position. He pulled your skirts back down around your legs. Though still damp, he would not remove your clothing with Mr Allison still in the tent. 

The baby was placed on the nearest cot to you and Mr Allison limped back out of the tent to sit beside the fire. George couldn't leave your side. He made sure you were sufficiently comfortable before he laid beside you, his face resting beside yours. 

You looked even younger as you slept. Were you even older than Bradley Allison, just outside this tent? Your face was pale- dangerously so, in George’s opinion- and your chest was barely fluttering. 

“I think I love you,” he whispered at your sleeping body. “Though I barely know you.” 

Unfortunately for him, you weren't sleeping as deeply as he thought. “I think I love you as well George,” you mumbled. “Even if you are a nosy war general who finds innocent nurses and accuses them of whoredom.” 

You laid on the cot beside him in a comfortable silence. “May I hold you in my arms?”

You stayed silent but moved your body to curl into his arms. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. 

“I am so sorry for not being able to save your daughter,” he whispered against your hair. 

It was a girl? You could feel the tears skittering out the sides of your eyes; sliding down your nose, your cheekbone. “It was a girl?” You weeped, holding back the sob that was trying to escape. “I always wanted a daughter.” 

Sobs racked your body as guilt filled you. You had listened to all the tricks your mother had for telling gender during a pregnancy. They always worked for her. She was always right. How were you so wrong? You were confident it would be a boy. You were confident he would end up being a disgusting snake like his father. 

And it was a girl. 

Part of you was glad she had died; you didn't want any reminders of him. But you always wanted a baby girl. 

“You will have one some day, (Y/N). I promise.” The pad of his thumb brushed the tears off your face before he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Or maybe if we are lucky, we will have a daughter.” 

You couldn't help but smile at his words, tears still streaming down your face. “You have known me for less than a day and yet you are already planning our future, Mr Washington?” 

“Of course,” he said back, his eyes smiling at you, though his mouth was the usual sternness as you had become accustom to. “If I have to convince you, I will. But I happen to think (Y/N) Washington has a beautiful ring to it. And we could live at my place in Mount Vernon, and we’ll have as many babies as you want, or as few as you want. I want to court you, (Y/N). Would you permit me to write you letters?” 

“Why would you write me letters if I'll be following your troops from camp to camp?” You smiled at him softly. 

“You still plan to work the infirmary tent?” 

“I haven't seen my family for over a year and I have nowhere else to go. The humid New York summer, with hot days and cold nights makes me despise the area, so as long as you move to somewhere with dryer air, I'll follow you.” Your arms balled up in the shirt he was wearing. “Where will I bury my baby?” You whispered. 

“I could find a way to send you to Mount Vernon. You could bury her there. After all, you aren't just stringing me along for heartbreak, are you?” 

You leaned onto his shoulder. “It is not in my plans, dear George. I would- Could we really- Can we bury her at Mount Vernon?”

George pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Of course. If that is what you would like.”

“I would,” you whispered. “George?”

“Yes, my (Y/N)?” 

“I feel so cold,” you whimpered, curling further into his side. “And so, so tired.” That heavy feeling was pushing down over your whole body again and your muscles fell limp. “George, I…” 

Your eyes closed and George tightened his arms around you. “(Y/N)? Please stay awake. Please,” he pleaded. “Alexander will be here soon with your clothes. And we can warm you up and- and we will be happy. Please, wake up.” 

“George,” you whispered. “Please George, it… so cold.” 

“I know. I know darling.” His forehead pressed against yours and he held you close. The night air was cooling fast and though it felt beautiful to George, it was taking its toll on you. 

“Can I see her?” You whispered, fighting your eyes open. 

George pulled away, nodding his head. He turned over and sat up, reaching for the blanketed infant. He cradled her in his arms, staring at her face. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping, but her tiny body didn't move- not once. 

He laid the infant beside you, her face laying beside yours. “When did you last feel her move?” 

“This morning,” you whispered, studying her face. “She looks like him.” 

“She has your eyes. Your lips, your ears. Your hair color. She would have been a beauty, just like her mother.” 

“No, she looks like him,” you cried. “Take her away.” 

George picked the baby up and cradled her again staring at her. You were wrong, but you were blinded by hate. She had his nose and eyebrows, but everything else was you. She was beautiful. 

George wished she was his daughter. 

He set her back down on the cot she had been on and laid beside you again. “(Y/N), we need to get you out of these wet clothes. Please, let me undress you. Again, my love, my intentions are pure, on my honor.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, too tired to move, to fight. He was gentle with you as he shifted your body to unlace the back of your dress. He was gentle as he stripped your clothes, layer by layer, and folding them, setting them on his coat. He stripped to his underclothes and crawled beneath the blankets, holding your naked body close to his. 

His body was warm against you, the hard lines of his body surprisingly comfortable as he laid against your back. He was comforting to be with. You weren't afraid that he was trying to hurt you. His arm moved beneath your head, acting as a pillow, the other draped over your torso, holding you close. 

“This has saved many of my men in the field during those many cold winter nights,” he said, his breath dancing against your ear. “I will gladly share my body heat with you if it means I can spend the rest of my life with you.” You turned over to face him, your every movement making your torso ache. 

“On top of being cold, and really tired, I think I could be hungry.” 

He smiled at you. “That is good; not that you are hungry, but partially because you can feel hunger. That is a good sign. But darling, it is not cold outside.” Horse feet were heard clopping around outside- multiple horses. “I hope that is Alexander, though I have no idea who he brought with him.” 

You only hummed a response, anticipating the tent flap being thrown open. 

You were too tired to care about your image anymore, too cold to worry about fighting anything. All you could focus on was the feeling of George's arms around you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The crisp smell of the outdoors that covered his skin. Your eyes closed gently and you basked in the feeling of safety and love. 

You heard the tent flap whip open and Alexander's voice filled the room. “Sir, I procured some clothes, food, and supplies. It was hard to convince shop owners, but I managed to guilt them into it.” The sound his boots made against the ground stopped abruptly. “Is she-?”

“She is… still alive,” he sighed, easing your head off his arm and sitting up beside you. “Her body temperature is high, yet she feels cold and she is fatigued, but she is alive. I hope she is asleep.”

“I am awake,” you mumbled as the blanket pulled down on your body. “Though I must admit, I would much rather be asleep. Lay with me and I will soon be sleeping.” 

You didn't see the loving smile that graced his face, but he smiled at you before laying back down beside you. The cot was barely large enough for the two of you, and was only inches off the ground, but it was better than sleeping on the ground; as you were well aware of- you had spent many nights curled in the corner when all the cots were taken up. 

It wasn't long before you were sleeping and George stood up, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on. 

“How's the baby?” Alexander whispered. 

George swallowed hard. “It was a stillbirth. I tried to revive her, start her heart, anything, but nothing worked. That bastard disgrace of a soldier killed that baby before she even had a chance to live, and all as part of some sick joke. He stole her virtue, and he stole that baby's life.” The tear that slipped from his eyes was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “She was such a beautiful baby. (Y/N) said that she felt her moving this morning. That baby was alive this morning, Alexander.” He stopped talking to think for a moment. “She wished the baby away. Was it the lord’s will to have that baby die, or just a disgusting turn of events?” 

Alexander was quiet for once. “I do not know sir. I would not think a holy god would kill an infant who has done nothing wrong but be conceived at the wrong time, but I know not the inner workings of an all powerful god. I, however, would like to think that it was only an unplanned turn of events. At least the child will not live a life of sorrow.” 

“No, she won't,” he murmured. 

“I managed to find a gown for the baby, and something to diaper her with. We could still dress her to honor her.”

George nodded solemnly. “Yes. That is a good idea.” He transferred the tiny infant on the cot to his arms gently, carrying her to Alexander. “She's so small.” 

He unwrapped the thin blanket and laid it over his shoulder, the baby’s body pale against his own hands. Alexander wrapped the diaper on the baby and pinned it in place before gently pulling the gown over the baby. “Does she want a burial for the baby?” 

“Yes,” George said, never taking his eyes off the still body in his hands. “She shall be buried at Mount Vernon.” 

A small smile found its way to Alexander's face. “You care for (Y/N).” 

“Very much. I can imagine a life with her, Alexander; a marriage, children, retirement. Walking in our house at Mount Vernon and kissing her as she cooks supper. She said she will move with us from camp to camp, follow us until the war is over. We have to end this war, Alexander. I want to move her to Mount Vernon as soon as possible. She cannot live this life much longer.”

“We can move the men south. We can move to Virginia, bury the baby at your home, and work down there. There is no reason for us to be this far north in New York, we have barely fought any battles as of recent. We have no reason to be here anymore.”

“You have a valid argument; we will move the men to Virginia. We can bury the baby, I can leave (Y/N) at my house and we can finish the war. It is nearing its end as we speak, maybe we can finish it off.” 

* * *

You left New York only days after giving birth. You felt feverish as you rode the general’s horse. He had refused to ride his horse and force you to walk, so he led his horse by the reins and walked with his men. 

A supply cart carried a small pine box, your daughter placed inside, shrouded by a baby blanket someone had given Alexander when he went to town. They had clothed her. You woke up to find her clothed in a small white gown, and the men of George's troop had built the small box out of whatever supplies they could find. George promised to finish the box at his house in Mount Vernon, promised to make it the perfect final resting place for your baby girl. 

Your guilt only grew as you traveled. George was planning to go to Virginia immediately; to bury the baby- whom you had named Abigail- and then to finish the war. George wanted you to stay at Mount Vernon while the men fought. 

How could you stay at a house you didn't know- and alone? You laid on the horse’s neck and let your limbs fall limp. You just wanted to rest. You felt warm- feverish- and you felt as though your clothes were constructing your rib cage. You were lightheaded as you and the men crossed over the Virginia border; next stop- Mount Vernon. 

You rode silently, George stopping to ask you if you needed anything every so often. Each time, you responded with a curt shake of the head. No matter what your temperament was, he would always respond with a chaste kiss to the cheek, or forehead. 

You slept by his side every night, his arm wrapped around your waist, his chest originally pressed against your back until you turned yourself around nestled your face in his neck. He was never willing to push you farther than you wanted to go and that made you admire him even more. 

You loved this man- this man you barely knew- but the more you learned about him, the more you loved him. You laid on his horse’s neck, watching him. No matter how tired he was, his posture was immaculate- head up, shoulders back- you could balance a book on his head. He looked at you and smiled in utter adoration and you couldn't help but avert your eyes from his gaze and smile. 

Never before had someone made your heart flutter with a simple smile. But he did. His smile brightened up your day every time you saw it. 

But you had never seen him smile as big as he smiled when he saw Mount Vernon. His home. 

Green grass waved in the wind as far as the eye could see. Horses were grazing in the pasture, the air smelled fresh and wildflowers grew everywhere. 

“Welcome to Mount Vernon, (Y/N). This is my home, our home.”

You sat up on the horse for the first time and looked at the surroundings. It was absolutely beautiful. Workers walked across the fields, tending the crops. Women worked in the gardens, pulling weeds, harvesting any crops that were ready. A carriage sat in the driveway, the horses being led into the barn, a gorgeous driving team of chocolate quarter horses. 

You could almost feel your fever ebbing away as you drank in the beautiful tranquility. The men had stopped a while back, not wanting to intrude on George's home. They were setting up camp while you and George moved down the path, Alexander following on horseback. You leaned against the horse’s neck and grabbed the reins from George's hand, grinning as you broke into a canter down the rest of the drive. 

The wind pushed your hair out of your face as you neared the barn and you pulled the reins in, slowing the horse down, your heart racing as you saw George laughing down the driveway. You threw your legs over the horse’s side and dropped to the ground. You buried your face in the horse’s neck and inhaled, waiting for George to make it up to the stable. 

He reached you, a smile still brightening up his face as he took the reins from your hands. Your arms wrapped around him. “Would you like me to bury my nose in your neck now?” You joked, nuzzling into his neck. It was your favorite place to be to start with. Now was no different. 

“Let me take care of the horse and I'll show you around, my (Y/N).” 

He led the horse into the stable and took care of her. You moved to the field and disappeared into the tall grass to pick the wild flowers. You laid in the grass and closed your eyes, basking in the warm Virginian sun. 

You could hear George calling for you but you didn't want to move your body. You were at peace for the first time in months. 

“I'm in the grasses, my dear!” You called to him. You listened to him wading through the tall grass to find you, before he tripped over your feet and caught himself hovering above your body. “Hello,” you breathed, his face close only inches away from your own. 

“Hello yourself,” he said, shifting his body weight to one arm so he could brush away a lock of hair from your face. 

“I picked you some wildflowers,” you smiled, pushing the flowers up between you, the flowers brushing against the tip of his nose. 

George scrunched up his nose and snorted, causing you to laugh beneath him. “They are absolutely beautiful, my sweet, but they are also tickling my nose.” He took the flowers from you and shifted his body. He was no longer hovering above you, but sitting at your feet, fiddling with the flowers. His hands moved elegantly as he weaved, placing a ring of flowers on your head. 

“A flower hat?” You laughed. 

“No,” he started. “A flower crown. For the only girl I wish to spend my life with for the rest of our lives.” 

“Oh, George,” you crooned. 

He stood you up before grabbing your hands, his eyes piercing yours . “(Y/N), though we have not known each other for long, I know there is no one else I would rather take as my wife. You are beautiful, you are strong, caring, and hardworking. I wish to see you grow round with child, or cook supper in the kitchen. I wish to swing with you on the porch on nights like last night. I wish for you to ride horses with me through the fields. (Y/N)(L/N), will you do me honors of becoming my wife?” He fell to one knee in the middle of the grass you both had knocked down, a gorgeous ring in his hand. 

You started crying, your body shuddering with sobs. “Yes,” you whispered. “Absolutely yes!” 

He stood up and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, breaking away to slide the silver band on your ring finger. You jumped into his arms, knocking him backwards as you caught him off guard. “I love you,” he said, his forehead pressed against yours. 

“I never thought I could love a man, but George, I love you. I love you with all my heart.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, and another. Another. Another. Over and over until he pulled at the strings on your stays. “Make love to me, George,” you whispered in his ear. 

“I will, my sweet. Never worry about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stalk me on tumblr
> 
> @im-writing-out-of-time


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